


Poputchik

by ACatWhoWrites



Series: #BoKuroo Week 2019 [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Airplanes, Alternate Universe, Anxiety, BoKuroo Week, BoKuroo Week 2019, Gen, Strangers to Friends, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 01:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18355985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACatWhoWrites/pseuds/ACatWhoWrites
Summary: He’s easy to talk to and fun to listen to. They reveal things about themselves they admit their own friends and family don’t know, trusting that their confidante will keep it to themselves once they go their separate ways.





	Poputchik

**Author's Note:**

> day three - intimacy

After many months, Kuroo’s finally going home. He buys a plane ticket, packs everything into his bag—it seems less than what he came out with—and takes a cab to the airport. There are two hours of nothing after he checks in, waiting for his flight. He finds a corner seat, pulls his bag onto his lap, and naps.

A close rumble of many voices wakes him. The passengers are disembarking, marching with purpose or shuffling with exhaustion.

The pretty flight attendants announce it’s time to board. Please line up based on seat number, starting with section A.

It never made sense, filling the plane from front to back.

He’s in section B, almost C, in the very middle of the plane. Children hang from their parents’ hands and play while everyone’s tickets are scanned and the line shuffles. A middle-aged woman kindly asks his number and slips behind him with a soft smile. Before him is a tall man with bleached hair and very broad shoulders wearing a backpack. 

The plane has neat rows of three seats on one side and two seats on the other. He’s on the short side, beside the man with dyed hair.

After stuffing his bag in the overhead compartment, Kuroo sits in his aisle seat and leans towards the man every time someone walks by with a swinging purse or wide hips. The man fiddles with the lever to recline his seat, dropping sharply into the lap of the woman behind him. The latch holding the tray in place is another source of restless fascination. Then the knob overhead by the reading lights that blasts cool air onto their faces.

He’d be annoyed if he wasn’t so amused.

“First time flying?”

“Huh? Oh, no… Second time, actually. Return flight home. Flying out was awful, like the pilot purposely hit every bounce of turbulence. The little kids seemed to think it was fun, but my guts were close to dropping out of my ass.”

He introduces himself as Bokuto Kotarou, Japan’s volleyball darling. No wonder he looks familiar.

One of the flight attendants walks down their section, asking for trays to be lifted, seats straightened, devices put away, and bags stored overhead or beneath a seat. A voice filters through the speakers, and he zones out while safety procedures are reiterated.

“Honestly, if we go down, I’m going to forget everything, including my own damn name. There’s no way I’ll remember my seat can float.”

“You’d better. Muscle sinks.”

Bokuto looks at him in wonder, eyes flashing gold. “Is that why it’s so hard to swim?” The plane starts to move, and he lurches in his seat, grabbing the armrest with one hand and tightening his belt even more with the other.

The plane eases to a stop. They can see the line of planes waiting to take off from their window. His nervous seatmate starts a pattern of squeezing and releasing the armrest in his hands.

“Your seat is really enjoying that massage.” Bokuto chuckles lamely. “You’re more likely to date a supermodel or win an Olympic gold than experience a plane crash.” There’s a one in an eleven million chance of experiencing a plane crash. Kuroo is quite comfortable with that but nervous as a cat when in a car.

“Comforting. I’ve already done both.”

“See?” He sits back in his seat and waits, sensing the plane’s turn to face down the runway. “Would it help I held your hand?” He’s surprised but not unhappy when his hand is seized. Their arms wind together, and he braces for the acceleration that hurtles the plane down the runway. The angle is uncomfortable until they reach a cruising altitude, and his hand pulses with the intensity of Bokuto’s grip.

“Oh, man, don’t tell anyone, okay? It’s not awesome how much of a wimp I am.” Bokuto looks at his hand and relaxes his hold. Kuroo’s content with his fingers returning to their normal color and lets his arm remain beside Bokuto’s, within reach.

A flight attendant moves down the aisle with a cart of food and drinks. The seatbelt light turns off but no smoking remains lit. Someone unbuckles and dances around the flight attendant to claim the restroom at the front of the cabin.

“Probably had the piss scared out of him by the take off,” Bokuto mumbles. Kuroo suggests he sleep, if he can, to avoid the flight as much as he can. “I would it I could, but I can’t. It just doesn’t work. My mind tells me I’m gonna wake up dead, and I don’t like that.” He looks at Kuroo, rolling his head to the side. “You don’t mind if we just, like, talk, do you? I don’t wanna keep you from napping yourself or anything…”

He doesn’t mind.

Bokuto’s easy to talk to and fun to listen to. He’s a Virgo, has hated math since starting school, and can become so fixated on something that he completely forgets how to do something else. 

“You heading home, then?”

Kuroo nods and admits, “It felt like time.”

As the flight progresses, blessedly smooth, they each sit more comfortably in their seats. If their knees bump together, they don’t comment or move. Their heads bow together as thought drawn by personal gravity. Even the flight attendants’ brief claim of attention can’t shatter the bubble they’ve built around themselves.

They reveal things about themselves they admit their own friends and family don’t know, trusting that their confidante will keep it to themselves once they go their separate ways.

Kuroo admits his depression nearly got the better of him after his mom passed and how he hid it from everyone. It cost him some friendships and relationships but earned him greater connections to those who remained.

Bokuto commiserates, although he’s not lost anyone in his lifetime. His slow, deliberate wording about his knee injury and months of pain and physical therapy gives rise to suspicion about the frequency of prescription painkiller refills.

Judgement or analysis has no place in their conversation. They’re two people bound for a similar place for different reasons but experiencing life in fascinating, excruciating, unique ways.

Sleep does claim them both. Flight attendants offer blankets, pillows, sleep masks, and ear plugs. The cabin is dimmed, and few passengers light the reading lamps. Soft snores bounce from the front to the back, an echo that would usually be annoying if they were all more awake.

Easy dreams are cut off, and the haze of sleep is lifted like a veil by the pilot announcing they’re twenty minutes out and asking all passengers to straighten their seats and trays and return blankets and pillows.

Kuroo has to nudge his seatmate. Bokuto’s head falls from Kuroo’s shoulder, and he jerks upright with a small line of drool at the corner of his mouth.

Landing is as smooth as take off, but Kuroo still loses feeling in his fingers.

“Land, sweet land!” Bokuto whoops. “I’d kiss it, if I was outside right now.”

Departure is a slow shuffle. Bokuto bumps into Kuroo a few times, even drops his head onto Kuroo’s shoulder when they’re held up by a harried passenger struggling with their bag in the overhead compartment.

The airport is as busy as ever, never having a lull even during red-eye flights. Passengers part and flow around them, heading to baggage or family or a connection.

Bokuto waves and hollers at a man who looks like he just rolled out of bed. He wears a small smile, though, and Kuroo figures that means he’s pleased to see the man with too much enthusiasm.

“You got a ride waiting?” Kuroo doesn’t, but he nods. This is where strangers part ways and return to regular life.

They bow, and Kuroo heads to the doors leading outside. Cars are still picking up and dropping off passengers. He should be able to find a cab.

A holler of his name makes him turn. Bokuto’s ride is in the same spot, arms crossed over his chest. Bokuto himself has closed the distance to Kuroo with an effortless sprint. “Here. I forgot to give this to you.” He hands over a folded piece of paper and salutes. “Be seeing you, Kuroo!”

Kuroo tucks the number into his pocket and goes to hail a cab. He can add the number into his phone during the ride home.

**Author's Note:**

> попутчик: (n) stranger you connect to on a trip
> 
> Intimacy isn't something exclusively romantic. It's literally closeness.
> 
> Personally, though, I actually rather enjoy flights. Take-off is easier than landing, I think, although the most problems a plane has is usually within those minutes.


End file.
